


A Tribute's Strength

by HooperMolly



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 09:19:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HooperMolly/pseuds/HooperMolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peeta's name gets called out at the reaping for the Third Quarter Quell. Haymitch sticks to his agreement with Katniss and volunteers in his place.</p>
<p>A Catching Fire AU where Haymitch goes into the arena.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reaping

**Author's Note:**

> For Emma and the twitbros.
> 
> I went looking for an AU like this but couldn't find one so in the end I've started writing my own. There will be a mix of film and book canon as I please. If something happens similarly to the book I've skimmed it over it as quickly as I could so that I am not simply regurgitating it. (edit: have changed the title between posting first and second chapters. Initially posted as 'Tick Tock')

My legs are shaking so badly that I worry I might fall over. I knew from the moment the reality of the quarter quell hit me that I would be back in that arena, but there was still hope, still a chance that Peeta would not have to join me. Effie fumbles with the paper and I realise that her fingers are trembling even harder than I am. 

I wonder who she’s more afraid of sending into the arena. Peeta is young and strong, even with his artificial leg, but she was on the outside with Haymitch while we fought. His is the more familiar face, the more familiar name. 

“Peeta Mellark.” She reads out the name printed on the paper, her voice thankfully far steadier than her hands. Peeta gives a single, curt nod and takes a step forward. My heart is pounding in my chest and time seems to slow down for as I seek out Haymitch’s eyes in my panic. 

You promised, I scream at him inside my head and pray that he can hear me. It happens so slowly yet it’s over in the blink of an eye. Haymitch putting his hand on Peeta’s shoulder and pulling him back. Peeta shaking his head, anger settling over his gentle features. 

“I volunteer as tribute.” Haymitch says. There’s no murmurings in the crowd. Haymitch has locked himself away for so long and kept himself so isolated. It is as though only Peeta, Effie and I truly care for him here in District 12. 

“You promised me.” I hear Peeta say accusingly, brushing Haymitch’s hand from his shoulder and turning back to face Effie. 

“I volunteer.” He says firmly, and Effie starts spluttering. I should have expected that Peeta would not accept this, would not take it well. But he is safe. He is going to be safe and I will not have to worry about protecting him in the arena. 

“I’m sorry but you can’t, Mr Mellark.” She’s so flustered that her wig has slipped and she’s dropped the paper bearing Peeta’s name. 

“What about for Katniss?” He says, and that catches everyone off guard. A wave of whispers pass over the crowd, dying quickly as the peacekeepers finger their weapons touchily. The relief I felt at Haymitch volunteering vanishes, a heavy dread flooding my stomach. 

Can he? I can’t remember it ever being attempted before, someone volunteering to take the place of a tribute of a different gender. Surely it’s against the rules, I try to reason with myself, but until I know for sure then I cannot so much as breath from fear. Effie shakes her head. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t think you can.” She says softly, and if I’m not mistaken there are tears in her eyes. Tears for Peeta? For Haymitch? For me? For the wedding that will never be? Effie takes a deep breath to settle herself, raising her chin and announcing us in a strong, clear voice. 

“The tributes for District 12 in the 75th Hunger Games, Haymitch Abernathy and Katniss Everdeen.” There is applause but it’s so distant as I retreat into my thoughts. Haymitch kept his promise and Peeta is safe, so why do I still feel so ill? 

It doesn’t feel real. Perhaps it isn’t. Perhaps this is just another one of my nightmares. I can hear my name being called. It’s Effie. I can see something flickering in her eyes, and realise that it is fear when I feel myself being shoved roughly towards the doors of the Justice Building. 

“Katniss, I think they want us to go to the train now.” Effie says, sounding ruffled at her schedule being disrupted. 

“But I haven’t said my goodbyes!” I blurt out in panic. 

“I don’t think we’re being allowed them.” Haymitch says, grabbing my forearm and steering me through the doors. I immediately dig in my heels.

“No!” I scream, twisting and pulling as I try to fight my way past them all - the peacekeepers, Haymitch, Peeta - to reach Prim and my mother and Gale and Madge. But they stop me, pull me back. I could fight them off, if it was just Haymitch or only Peeta, but together they are more than enough to take me through those doors. “No!”

I can see my mother, tears in her eyes as she watches me disappear through the door. Prim is as still as a statue, her hand clasped tightly in mother’s. The last thing I see before the doors close is Gale’s tall, strong frame. Our eyes meet and he nods, almost imperceptibly. I know what he means, what the nod promises. He is telling me that no matter what it costs, he will do everything within his power to keep my mother and Prim safe.

We are herded quickly through the building and practically pushed onto the train. Peeta hasn’t said a word since Effie told him that he couldn’t volunteer for me but he keeps shooting furious looks in Haymitch’s direction.

Effie tells us that food will be served in half an hour as brightly as she can manage but it’s obvious that the reaping has rattled her. Peeta thanks her politely before seizing both Haymitch and me by the hand and dragging us through several compartments to the end of the train where we find ourselves in a small, semi-circular viewing room.

Haymitch sits before Peeta can even close the door, clenching and unclenching the hand that Peeta had been holding.

“You’ve got quite a grip on you.” Haymitch jokes lightly but Peeta’s face is thunderous as he rounds on us.

“You two made a promise without me. Didn’t you?” He glances a few times briefly at me, but the focus of his fury seems to be Haymitch.

“I might remind you that I also made a promise with you behind her back.” Haymitch says, gesturing towards me. I am still standing, too numb to sit. What if it isn’t enough? What if Peeta is still too much of a risk and they kill him even after I die in the arena.

Then I realise that Peeta’s impassioned attempts to save me will be playing well in the Capitol. Enough, I hope, to ensure that he will be okay no matter what the outcome in the arena. The star-crossed lover, doing everything within his power to keep his fiancé safe.

“We made ours first.” Peeta says. I have never seen him this angry. Haymitch shrugs. Peeta’s face flushes scarlet at that. Unable to find the words he wants, he throws open the door and storms out of the room. It slams behind him.

“I’m never quite sure if he’s acting or not.” Haymitch says, and I sense a hint of pride his voice. It’s not until I sit down that I realise how unsteady I was on my feet. The adrenaline was working its way through my body, leaving my limbs feeling insubstantial and unbalanced. 

I’d almost forgotten that Haymitch was our mentor. The man sitting across from me had done as much, if not more, to save both me and Peeta last year. Then it hits me all at once. Peeta is my mentor now. He is Haymitch’s mentor.

Haymitch is my partner. We’re going to fight alongside each other. Kill alongside each other. The people we’re going to be up against are his friends. The only people he trusts. The only people who can possibly understand what we have been through.

Peeta was physically there, beside me as I fought, but it’s not really that different for Haymitch and the other victors. They won in different years, fought in separate games, but they’ve bonded. They share something that an outsider couldn’t possibly understand. I will be the only stranger in the mix.

Will Haymitch be able to do it? Can he kill a friend? Will I have to do it for him? Some of them will be old, much older than Haymitch. Am I capable of such a thing? Would Haymitch kill me? If it all came down to it, could I murder him? Could I put an arrow in his throat, his belly?

In that moment I realise that I cannot. No more than I could hurt Peeta. The only possibility I could hope for is that someone else will take me or Haymitch out before it came down to that.

I start crying before I even know that I want to. My shoulders tremble as everything spills over, my fear for my family, for Gale, for Peeta. The unshakable sense of guilt that it’s my fault that Haymitch is being sent into the arena to slay his friends. I’m so tired of being terrified that I’m almost able to find solace in the thought that it will soon be over.

I’ll be dead, Peeta will help Gale look after my family and President Snow will have no reason to kill any of them. I don’t notice that Haymitch has moved until the seat beside me dips and a warm arm has wrapped itself around my shoulders. I let him hold me until the tears dry up and I can breath again.

“I’m so sorry.” I murmur, even though I know that there is nothing I can say that will make this better. Haymitch shakes his head.

“Don’t be.” He tells me and I know that he means it. I want to hate him, for being so kind, but I can’t. He’ll be back in the grip of the liquor before we’ve finished our meal. I wonder how the other victors are coping. Tributes. They’re tributes now.

It doesn’t feel as awkward as I expected, head against Haymitch’s chest as at least one of us leaves District 12 for the final time. He smells like stale alcohol mixed with something sweet that I can’t place. My whole body goes rigid as a thought crosses my mind, a way that I can make it up to Haymitch for dragging him into this mess, and thank him for all the help he gave me last year. I feel him tense beside me and I know it’s an automatic response.

“I’m okay. It’s fine. I was just thinking about Prim.” I say. Haymitch nods.

“I understand.” He says, but I can see that he knows I’m lying. He’s always been so good at knowing what I need, at being able to understand how I think that there have been multiple occasions where I haven’t been entirely sure that he doesn’t have a direct line to my mind.

Haymitch Abernathy, whatever problems he’s had in the past quarter of a century, does not deserve this. He deserves to live in as much peace as he can find for himself for the rest of his natural life. So that will be my present to him. I’m going to make sure that Haymitch lives.

__________

It’s calming, once I’ve made up my mind. I know that I can’t tell Peeta my plans, he would never go along with it. Then he would tell Haymitch and he too would object. This was going to be my own secret to carry.

I barely taste the food we have at lunch. Effie does her best to start up a conversation but it fades faster each time until she stops trying. No one drinks anything but sparkling water that tingles as it passes over your tongue. I can see Haymitch wants something harder but the steely look in Peeta’s eyes is enough to hold him back for now.

I want to go to my room and disappear as soon as our plates have been taken away but Effie insists that we ought to watch the reapings. Or rather, Effie informs us that is what her schedule allows for and Peeta demands that we do it.

There’s a grim uneasiness in his expression, and I wonder how much I would have to push for that facade to crack and fall away to reveal the fear within. I suspect it won’t take much. That the mask is for my benefit only. The four of us make our way to the television room. I can tell that Peeta wants to sit next to me but I position myself so that he has no choice but to sit at the other end of the sofa, with Haymitch between us. With no room left on our sofa Effie is left by herself on the second one. She smiles politely but I can see that she is hurt.

It’s not that I’m avoiding Peeta. I know that there will be more angry outbursts fueled by his feelings for me, at the perceived betrayal of Haymitch and his fear of being left alone. That’s what he will be if both Haymitch and I die in that arena. A lonely mentor who watches year after year as another two children do their best to survive before ultimately being murdered for the Capitol’s entertainment, just as the woman he loved and the man who trained him.

No, it’s not for Peeta’s sake that I insist we sit apart. It is for Haymitch. We’re about to find out which of his friends we are going to have to kill so that Haymitch can survive. If we are surrounding him, it will remind him that he is not alone. We’ll get through this together. The three of us. 

The only one who speaks during the recap is Effie, prattling away about some of the tributes that she is familiar with. She’s particularly upset by the male tribute from district 4. I recognise him. I’ve heard plenty of women - as well as a few men - in the district talk about Finnick Odair.

There’s only one time that I observe any clear distress on Haymitch’s face, and that is when they announce the tributes of District 11. A muscle in his jaw jumps when they call out the name Chaff, who turns out to be a tall, dark skinned man who only has one hand. In the depths of my mind I recall fragments of memory about watching a repeat of those games.

Peeta’s hand clenches over his artificial leg. I know that he isn’t aware that he is doing it. I place my hand over Haymitch’s, just letting it rest there as a reminder that I am here. It’s only been a few hours but I can sense that something has changed between us, now that I am no longer his student. As though for the first time he is seeing me as truly his equal.

I am about to pull my hand away when Haymitch catches my thumb. It’s the smallest touch and his eyes haven’t left the screen, but it’s an acknowledgment of my gesture. When they show our reaping they cut back to Caesar before I start screaming. 

“Well that was rather unpleasant, wasn’t it?” Effie chirps. She’s trying to be kind but we must all be wearing the same incredulous look because she clears her throat and stands up.

“I have some tapes for you.” She says, smoothing an invisible wrinkle on her skirt so that she doesn’t have to look at us. It takes her a moment to retrieve them from where she has stored them safely in the corner of the room. She offers them to Haymitch but he shakes his head.

“I’m not the mentor anymore.” He says, eyes crinkling merrily. There’s a playfulness to his tone that calms me. If he can be okay about this then maybe I can too. Effie laughs shrilly as she hands the box full of tapes to Peeta.

“Yes, of course. How silly of me.” She says, and even through her heavy Capitol makeup I can see her blushing. She hovers for a moment but none of us invite her to stay, so she leaves the room, embarrassed smile still stretched across her face as she teeters on her heels.

“So, Mentor Mellark. What’s the plan?” Haymitch asks, leaning back into the sofa casually and spreading his arms so that they are resting behind us. There’s a smile on his face, something in between a cheeky grin and a self-satisfied smirk. It occurs to me for the first time that this jovialness is as much a mask as Peeta’s current hardness - the opposite reaction to the same stimulus, fear.

Peeta doesn’t reply as he begins to dig through the tapes, searching for the years that correspond with the chosen tributes. He gives a third of them to me and a third to Haymitch, keeping the other third for himself.

“You’ve got televisions in your rooms, right?” He asks, abandoning the remainder of the tapes on the floor. I nod. Haymitch says a quiet ‘yep’.

“Watch carefully.Take notes. Be as thorough as you can. We’ll meet up and exchange information once we get to the Capitol, after our first training session.” He waits for us to agree before he gets up and marches out of the room. Our betrayal with the reaping has wounded him more than I expected.

“A training session as soon as we get to the Capitol? Got to hand it to him, the kid’s keen.” Haymitch says. There’s only two of us now so he moves to the end of the sofa and slouches into the corner. He swings his legs up so that his boots are resting on my knees. I know that if I look at him he will be smirking so I ignore him.

I look down at the tapes in my hands. There are only seven. I quickly count Haymitch’s. He only has seven too. Peeta must have taken the extra one with him. There’s no need to watch most of them. Mags from District 4 is far too old for us to gain anything worthwhile from her tape, and the two morphlings of District 6 are so lost in their addiction that I doubt they will be able to train up to any kind of decent standard. Like Mags, Woof has no strength left in his aged body. This leaves me with Cecelia and the two tributes from District 9.

Haymitch has already tossed aside the tapes that are marked ‘Wiress’ and ‘Beetee’. He catches me looking. 

“I already know their strengths.” He tells me, sending another tape flying across the room with a flick of his wrist. I cannot read the name at this distance. 

“What about their weaknesses?” I ask, as a fourth tape goes flying. His nose twitches. The movement is so rapid that most people would miss it. 

“Yep. Them too.” The mask has slipped, just for a fraction of a second. Now is the time to press if I want find out what is beneath it.

“Apart from Chaff, how many of them are your...?” The word ‘friends’ die on my lips. “How many do you know?” I hasten to correct myself but it’s a personal question. There’s a long silence and I’m sure I’ve missed my chance, that the mask is firmly back in place. But then Haymitch starts listing names.

He doesn’t so much as glance up at me as he reels them off, reciting them monotonously as though they were a checklist he had to memorise. It takes me a while to grasp that he probably has. The list of names is most likely circling in his mind, repeating itself endlessly. 

I don’t what to say. There’s nothing I can say. I want to ask more questions but it doesn’t feel right. Besides, I can see that the cracks have been smoothed over. I will get no more from him now. This is demonstrated when Haymitch stands, tossing the rest of his tapes on the other sofa and swaggering out of the room.

I check the names on the tapes. The two tributes from District 10 and Finnick. The tapes that had been flung unceremoniously across the room turned out to be those of the District 7 tributes, Johanna and Blight. The District 10 tributes, Ellaria and Trix, are the only two who Haymitch had not listed amongst his acquaintances. 

Peeta has taken most of the careers for himself and I wonder if he knew that Haymitch would not watch the tapes. It’s the last thing I want to do but I know little about the other victors. My knowledge desperately needs to be supplemented. Haymitch’s doesn’t. But it doesn’t explain why Peeta would take Seeder and Chaff’s tapes, unless he too noticed Haymitch’s reaction to their reaping. 

Maybe they have had conversations in the past about Haymitch’s victor friends. Do they think I am rude or cold for never asking myself? I’ve been so worried about my family, my friends, my district for the past year that in truth I had all but forgotten that I would be expected to meet and mingle with the other victors.

I abandon the tapes assigned to me and sift through those left on the floor. Most of them are of victors from Districts 1, 2, and 4 but it’s none of them that catch my eye. At the bottom of the box, concealed beneath a few dozen others, is a tape marked ‘Haymitch Abernathy (50th Hunger Games/Second Quarter Quell)’. Is it a coincidence that it was half hidden in the pile? Has someone tried to hide it? From me? From Haymitch? As far as I know, Effie and Peeta are the only two who have been near the box but it’s possible that Haymitch found it. Unlikely, since he’s rarely been out of my sight in the few hours since the reaping, but still possible.

Besides, if Haymitch had been the one attempting to hide it then surely he would have just removed it. No one would have noticed.

Curiosity washes over me and I find myself grabbing Haymitch’s tape and hurrying to my own room with the tapes that I am supposed to be watching. I close the door, inserting the tape into the little slot and turning on the television.

As the screen flickers to life I’m frozen by a niggling feeling that I shouldn’t be watching this. As strange as it sounds, it feels like I am about to be peering into Haymitch’s private thoughts. My unease gives way to a sharp shock as I recognise my mother on the screen during the reaping. I had forgotten that she was around about Haymitch’s age.

It doesn’t feel quite real as I watch Haymitch get reaped alongside another young boy and two girls. The interviews, even the arena itself all feel like some kind of distant dream as I watch. It’s not so much a surprise as just unexpected when Haymitch downs two boys in an alliance of three with his knife. I’ve never really thought about how Haymitch won his games.

He forms his own alliance with one of the District 12 girls and I recognise the pin on her jacket as my own. It triggers a memory of Madge telling me about the meaning of the pin when she gave it to me. For luck, she said. It didn’t save the girl in the arena.

“How can this be for luck?” I say, touching the badge absently as I watch Haymitch stay with the girl, holding her hand as she dies. 

“It was for me.” The voice startles me and I find myself scrambling to turn the screen off but I can’t find the remote.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to…” I start to apologise but there’s no anger or negative emotion on Haymitch’s face.

“If you switch it off now you’ll miss the best bit.” He says, leaning casually against the frame of my door, bottle of drink in his hand. 

“Don’t let Peeta see you with that. He’ll be furious.” I mean it to be scolding but it only makes Haymitch laugh.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, it’s non-alcoholic. Apparently our young mentor has instructed everyone on this damned train not to give me a drink. Not sure how he’s managed it but they seem to be taking him seriously. I always knew he could act but I think I’ve created a monster. He’s actually capable of threatening now.” I’ve spent most of the tape thinking about how different young Haymitch is from the Haymitch I see before me, but it’s not true.

The cocky young boy is still there, hidden beneath the obscuring layers of alcohol and nightmares. I finish watching the recording as Haymitch stays in the door, watching with me. I don’t know how he is doing it, especially when it comes down to a hand-to-hand fight between him and a career girl from District 1. 

It’s brutal. I can’t see how Haymitch manages to survive it as vital organs threaten to spill out over bloodied, trembling fingers. It’s only once he uses the force field surrounding the arena to take out the career girl with her own axe that I realise just how little Haymitch has changed.

His instinctual understanding of the Games, the improvised weapon, it’s going to be vital once we step into the new arena. 

“They didn’t like it, did they?” I say, turning off the screen. I have no intention of watching any of the other videos. Haymitch laughs.

“They hated it. Nothing they could do though. Didn’t cause nearly as much trouble as your berries trick.” I think about what might have happened if it had come down to Haymitch and the District 12 girl at the end. Haymitch was smart enough to use the arena itself as a weapon and almost everything in the beautiful place was poisonous and deadly. Would bluffing with berries have occurred to him? If I’d had Cato chasing after me, would leading him to the edge and letting his own weapon rebound and kill him be something I would think of?

“Good thing I’m used to causing trouble.” I say. It’s not strictly true, but I have spent many years skirting the boundaries of real danger. I suppose the real problem now is that other people have seen it and decided they ought to join me.

“Good thing the boy isn’t.” Haymitch replies. I can picture Peeta, sitting in his room with a pad and pen. Taking copious and detailed notes, ready to brief us as soon as we reach our destination.

“Get some sleep. I know you didn’t last night and you’ll need some if we’re going to be training first thing upon arriving at the Capitol.” The way Haymitch says the words makes them feel like an order.

“I know you didn’t either.” I say accusingly. Haymitch’s lips stretch into a smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Where do you think I’m going now?” He replies, before taking a swig of whatever liquid is in the bottle. He makes a face.

“That is horrible.” The bottle winds up abandoned just outside the door.

“Sleep well.” He says, closing the door.

“You too.” I say. The bed is soft enough and the room warm enough that I don’t bother to pull back the covers or take off my outer clothes. I lie back on the bed and close my eyes. I’m firmly in the grip of unconsciousness within moments.

In my dreams I am in the sweet meadow arena of the second quarter quell. But unlike the pleasant aroma indicated by the tributes, I only smell the hot sharp scent of burning coal. Somewhere in the distance I can hear Peeta screaming and I sprint towards them as I try to pull my bow from where it’s slung over my shoulder. Only it’s not my bow, it is the dull weight of an axe in my hands.

There is a faint cracking sound behind me and I turn, throwing the axe reflexively. It glides through the air, spinning end on end and gleaming in the bright sunlight. My aim is true and it buries itself in the groove between the tributes neck and shoulder but to my horror it turns out to be Haymitch. I watch as he falls to the ground, blood streaming from severed arteries.

I can’t run anymore. Just moving my legs is an effort, like walking through syrup, but I persist. There’s nothing I can do as the blood keeps spurting from the wound that I have inflicted. I’m sorry. I try to speak but nothing comes out of my mouth. I’m so sorry I didn’t mean for this. Haymitch tries to speak but a red river bubbles up out of his mouth.

He clutches at me with his hands and I take them in mine. There is something in his right hand. He is trying to give it to me. I take it. It is my mockingjay pin, smeared with blood. Haymitch’s blood. Far away Peeta is still calling for me, the only sound in this world other than Haymitch’s choking death rattle.

My mockingjay pin. My good luck. It has Haymitch’s blood on it now, just as my hands do. The gasping stops. The cannon sounds. There is a knife slipped into a holster strapped to Haymitch’s thigh. I take it out and lie down next to him, staring up at the sky. When they come to take the body away I will use it to kill myself. They can take us both together.

But they don’t come. Peeta stops screaming and the cannon sounds again and again and again. I lose count of how many times but when it finally stops the arena is completely silent. Caesar’s voice rings out, congratulating Katniss Everdeen as the winner of the 75th Hunger Games. I’ve won. My blade ended Haymitch’s life. He has died and I have lived. I’ve failed.

I wake up in sweat drenched clothes. I do not sleep again.


	2. Training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Managed to meet my goal of finishing this chapter in a week. Yay. Thanks to Emma for her help getting rid of my 'this is why you shouldn't write at 3am' spelling and grammar errors. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

We barely reach our rooms before Peeta has us changing into workout appropriate gear. The training facilities won’t be open until the following morning so I find myself running up and down a set of stairs while Peeta times me. My legs burn by the end of the session and my lungs struggle to inhale. I can hear the blood rushing through my veins and arteries, feel my heart pounding in my chest. Peeta pats me on the back.

“Great job.” He says and for the first time since the reaping he sounds like his usual self.

“You hoping to kill me before the Games start so they’ll let you take my place?” Haymitch is lying on the stairs, looking utterly wrecked. Every bit of visible skin is glistening with sweat and his hair is damp and tangled. His chest heaves as he sucks in great lungfuls of air.

“I pushed you exactly as hard as you needed.” Peeta replies, and we all know it’s true. Suddenly Haymitch is on his feet. I don’t know how he’s done it. One moment he’s stretched out on the stairs and the next he’s upright without using his hands to aid him. He may not have the fitness of his youth but there’s still the old strength in his core.

We don’t have a chance to get back to our rooms before Portia and Cinna arrive. Cinna says nothing as his eyes sweep over my tired, sweaty frame. The same cannot be said of Portia.

“My prep team are going to have a fit.” She sighs exasperatedly. Haymitch grins, flicking his hair back off his face and sending droplets spraying through the air. If he was expecting a reaction he doesn’t get one, as Portia just crooks her finger. He gives a single courtesy nod to Cinna then saunters off after her.

Peeta pulls me into a hug and I stiffen in surprise before I remember we’re still supposed to be madly in love. As I relax Peeta whispers into my ear.

“You’ll be fine. We’ll be right here, watching you.” I’m grateful for the reminder that I am not alone in the Capitol. There are still friends here. Peeta, Cinna, Effie, even Portia. My prep team too. People who care about me because of who I am and not what I represent.

“Thank you.” I say, letting him kiss me on the cheek before Cinna whisks me away to be transformed. Cinna waves the prep team away as soon as they hurry into the room with wet eyes. 

I’m allowed to bathe by myself, rinsing away all signs of my earlier exertions. The clothes laid out for me are not a young girls, and neither is the makeup that Cinna carefully applies to my face. When he shows me how to turn on the flames I can’t help but smile. I am as deadly as the mines of District 12, a vengeful volcanic spirit.

We make our way down to the chariots. The air is buzzing with noise as the tributes chatter away. For now everyone is still friends first and foremost. The competition will come later.

Finnick approaches me as soon as Cinna departs. I’m not sure if he doesn’t notice my discomfort or if he is just ignoring it. He gives me a speech about sugar and the sweet things in life. It’s fairly strange and I’m glad when he leaves me alone.

“I see you’ve met Finnick.” Haymitch’s voice rings out from behind me as I watch Finnick’s retreating form.

“Oh yes, he wants me to share sugar and secrets with him.” I reply, turning to face my mentor. _No_ , I correct myself, _fellow tribute_. His clothes are made from the same material as mine, only he has a fitted jacket over his vest. Portia has lightened his hair. It shines even in the shadowy half-light where we stand and looks as smooth as silk.

His stubble has been trimmed, and the clever use of makeup gives the illusion that there are flames shaped into the hair on his jawline. I observe that he too has a small powerpack concealed in the lining of his jacket.

“Don’t be too quick to dismiss him. He may act like a narcissistic pretty boy but he’s fast, he’s strong, and he’s popular.” I’m well aware of how easy it was for Finnick to secure sponsors. Even now he never wants for anything as suitors shower him with gifts. I can see why Haymitch would want to ally with him but it doesn’t make me feel any warmer towards the man.

“And by popular you mean young, muscular-” I start to say but Haymitch cuts me off.

“And insanely good looking. A Capitol citizen’s dream.” I raise my eyebrow.

“Not your dream then?” It’s meant to be teasing but a part of me is genuinely curious. Haymitch laughs.

“Maybe once or twice.” The smile fades. “I know he’s not the kind of person you associate yourself with. I’m not about to drown you with cliches like ‘he’s just an unfortunate kid who’s made the best out of a bad situation.’ But as frivolous as he seems, when it comes down to the important things - the issues that really, truly matter - his heart is in the right place.” I roll my eyes.

“I’m more worried about where his trident’s going.” It’s not until Haymitch nearly doubles over laughing that I notice the double entendre. I don’t have the chance to chastise or clarify before I’m being pulled into a kiss by a tall man with dark skin. A cry escapes my lips when he lets me go. If I’d had a bow and arrow on me I would be sorely tempted to shoot him.

It’s only when he walks over to Haymitch and gives him the same greeting that I recognise the man. The stumped arm gives him away.

“Chaff.” I don’t mean to say the name out loud. He turns to face me with a huge smile on his face.

“Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire.” He says, taking my hand in his and giving me a funny little half bow. “I hope I didn’t cause any offense.”

This politeness catches me off guard and the only response that I can formulate is a hasty “No!”

I can’t shake the feeling that I’m somehow amusing to him as he turns back to Haymitch and shares a few private jokes. Already it has become starkly clear that I am the outsider. Little groups have formed up and down the under-stadium, friendships being renewed even under these hard circumstances. Chaff comments on Haymitch’s hair and they both crack up, shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Chaff!” A woman’s voice rings out and everyone in the area turns to face the older olive skinned woman who had spoken. Her arms were waving above her head, beckoning. I recognise her as Seeder. Even from this distance I can see that her eyes are clear and warm, and her arms strong and lithe.

“I’m being summoned.” Chaff says, holding out his hand for Haymitch to shake. I avert my gaze, unable to look at the genuine warmth and friendship encapsulated in that simple exchange. 

“Is he always like that?” I ask, as we both watch Chaff saunter back to his chariot.

“Oh yes.” Haymitch replies. “He sees something he wants, he takes it. Chaff hasn’t given a damn what anyone thinks about him since his 16th birthday.”

Like Finnick. I can see why Chaff never accepted any offers for an artificial hand now. He is the sort of man who refuses to let the Capitol think he is one of theirs. Just because he played their game once does not mean he will play it forever.

“I think I like him.” The small smile that Haymitch allows himself makes me suspect that perhaps that encounter wasn’t as casual or unexpected as I was being led to believe. As we climb onto the back of our chariot I observe a slight trembling in Haymitch’s hands. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on his brow.

“Haymitch? Are you okay?” I ask. If Haymitch is this anxious then shouldn’t I be feeling more on edge? I’m nervous but it’s all funnelling through me into concentrated anger towards President Snow.

“I’m fine. Just a little headache. Nothing to worry about.” He reassures me. But his hands still shake as he grips onto the hand holds set into the chariot. As we start moving towards the daylight of the arena I prepare myself for the crowds of coloured hair and painted faces that I am about to find myself confronting.

That’s the one good thing about the tributes having their own buildings within the Capitol. I rarely have to encounter the general population, ignorant in their privilege. I must look worried because Haymitch nudges me.

“What?” I ask as the first of the chariots disappears into the light.

“Remember they’re beneath us. If there’s one expression you can manage, this is it sweetheart.” The words have no sting in them, echoing a similar sentiment conveyed by Cinna. I’m well aware of my own shortcomings when it comes to affecting airs and graces.

We’re riding out into the warm bright sunlight before I can think of anything to say or do in reply. I set my face into a stony mask, staring directly ahead. The sounds of the crowd barely penetrate the mental sphere I’ve put up around myself. There is only me, Haymitch, the chariot and the heat of the sun. 

Then we switch our power packs on. Gasps ripple out through the crowd. I risk looking up at the screen. The camera is focused on us. Cinna and Portia have outdone themselves this time. Together, Haymitch and I look like we have just ridden up from the very depths of hell.

I do not look at President Snow as we circle past his podium. He is unworthy of my gaze. It is not until we’ve made our way back into the shelter of the under-stadium that I allow my face to relax. This is the most natural I have been permitted to be since I first arrived at the Capitol the previous year and the relief is immense. It’s pleasant not to have to constantly think about what my face or hands are doing, or whether my posture is okay.

“Hey! Girl on fire, you’re still on fire!” Chaff’s booming voice informs me and I turn my power pack off as he walks over to us. Seeder follows a few steps behind him. She’s grinning at some private joke. It’s hard to believe that she is a stranger. I’ve seen so many with her olive skin and dark hair in the streets near my own home. I push how much she reminds me of Rue to the backs of my mind, burying them along with all thoughts of last years Games. Those thoughts will not help me now.

“You look good.” Haymitch says as he steps off the chariot, wisps of smoke still hanging around him.

“Like a burning coal ready to ignite a fire?” I ask, smudging my makeup all over my hand as I scratch an itch on my cheek.

“No,” he declares. “Like a benevolent god who protects the workers of the mines.”

Chaff and Seeder reaching us prevents me from having to reply. I am immensely grateful. Haymitch knows about how my father died. Everyone in the Seam does. If only I could have been there to protect him on that day, I think. Tears do not form. I haven’t cried for my father in many years. But I feel slightly raw inside, as Haymitch’s words have scratched at an old wound. If there are such things as ghosts, then I will return to the mines after I die. The ghost on fire.

Chaff mentions that he’s curious about the flames and Haymitch is only too happy to show him how the power packs work. I watch them banter and play with each other as old friends do and it hits me that the people around me would most likely have been my biggest source of friends in the future. 

The Capitol hasn’t just threatened to take my family, Peeta, Gale, and Haymitch away from me. By sending us into the arena again they’ve taken away my future friendship with these people. Fury rises in me anew and it must show on my face because Seeder puts her arm around my shoulders and pulls me in close.

“How are you holding up, 12?” She asks. It’s both familiar and distant at the same time.

“I’ve been better.” I decide to be honest with her, against my better judgement. There is no logical reason for me to acquaint myself with any of my fellow victors. It will only make it harder to kill them later. Seeder chuckles quietly.

“Haven’t we all? You’ll be okay.” I know that I won’t. None of us will. I force myself to smile and nod just as the Capitol attendants grow restless and begin to herd us towards the elevators.

Seeder links her arm through Chaff’s and they head off. She hums an unfamiliar tune. They enter an elevator with the siblings from District 1, both of whom look like they want to murder everyone they see here and now. Gloss shoots the Capitol attendant who nudges him into the elevator a death glare and the young girl skitters backwards in fear. _They’re as angry as I am_ , I realise.

At first it looks as though Haymitch and I will be alone on our ride up but at the last moment a woman dressed as a tree pushes her way through the closing doors. It’s hard to see how anyone could possibly have underestimated Johanna Mason. Everything about her presence is intense. Perhaps she’s the one who should have been on fire.

“Hold this.” She says to me, taking the headpiece from her hair and pressing it into my hands. I can barely pay any attention to the words coming out of her mouth as she begins to strip completely naked. In the thirty seconds it takes for us to arrive at her floor she has demonstrated far superior knowledge of my falsified talent. She leaves me alone with Haymitch, the tree costume abandoned on the floor and headpiece still clutched in my hands. 

“What was that about?” I say as I stare bewildered at the twisted wood in my hands. Haymitch starts laughing, apparently unable to stop himself. By the time the doors slide open and reveal Peeta waiting to greet us on our floor, he’s clutching at his stomach.

“What have I missed?” Peeta asks, the deathly serious look on his face giving way to an amused grin. Haymitch is unable to stop laughing for long enough to get anything coherent out, so I recount the events of Johanna and the elevator.

“Don’t forget your face when Chaff kissed you. Or Finnick.” Haymitch manages to gasp out. I must replicate the expression now because Peeta joins Haymitch in his hysterics.

“Now I’m missing something. Am I really that amusing?” I ask.

“To them, yes. Katniss you’re so…” Peeta waves his hands about, unable to find the word he wants.

“Pure?” Haymitch supplies.

“I was going to go with innocent but pure works. Sure.” Peeta agrees. I’m stunned into silence. I have blood on my hands, not just from the Games last year but from the past few months. The old man who sang the tune of the Mockingjay and led the salute in District 11. All those who have been whipped and punished since they increased the number of Peacekeepers in District 12 thanks to the uprisings that I have helped inspire. In what world do they live that I could be thought of as pure?

“You’re making fun of me.” I say accusingly, heat rising in my cheeks. They splutter out denials in an attempt to mollify me, as Effie totters around the corner. She catches Peeta’s eye and he immediately sobers up.

“Have you told them yet?” She whispers urgently. Peeta shakes his head.

“Told us what?” Haymitch and I ask in almost perfect unison. Effie smiles nervously.

“When you see, you can’t react Katniss. It’ll only make things worse.” Peeta warns. Panic begins to seep through my body. It’s like I can feel it creeping through my arteries. Scenarios race through my head as my legs carry me further into our living quarters. I can hear Peeta giving me further warnings, begging me to stay calm. I can sense he and Haymitch close behind me. Effie steps in front of me, halting me.

“I’m very sorry.” She says solemnly. Time slows to a stop as she lets me move past her and around the corner. There are two red-haired avoxes waiting to serve us in the living room. The girl is the same as last year. As far as I can tell she is okay. Well, as okay as any of the avoxes can be. They haven’t hurt her recently. I move my gaze to the man. My stomach plummets and my hands shoot back. I grasp Haymitch and Peeta so tightly by their wrists that I feel the skin break beneath my nails.

Wordlessly I turn and head the other way down the hall, releasing the vice-grip I have on my friend’s wrists. There’s a moment’s hesitation, silent discussions happening behind my back before I hear them following me. Haymitch and Peeta do not ask permission before stepping into my room. I don’t think I would have denied them even if they had. I feel a rush of gratitude towards Effie when she does not come in with us but closes the door silently behind us. She can be more sensitive to my needs than I often give her credit for. I cannot breathe. The walls of my room feel like they’re closing in on me.

“I take it you recognised him.” Haymitch says, rubbing at his wrist. I sit down on the edge of my bed. At any moment I am sure that I am going to throw up.

“Yes.” I reply. “He...he was a friend.” Peeta and Haymitch both knew him. Anyone from the Seam would have recognised the long-time Peacekeeper, Darius. The last time I had seen him was when they dragged him away unconscious after he stepped in to try and end Gale’s prolonged whipping. But I’d spent years trading with him, sharing jokes over meals. For years he could have turned me in for illegal poaching but he never did. I owe him so much and now he is here.

“It’s my fault.” The words come automatically. It’s an all-too-common occurrence lately.

“No. It’s not.” Peeta insists. I hate how sincere he sounds. He’s the pure one. Why is no one teasing him?

“Leave me alone.” I order, but neither one of them moves. 

“Leave. Me. Alone.” I repeat, carefully intonating each word. Instead they sit down beside me on the edge of the bed. It’s only then that it sinks in. They have no intention of leaving me. Not now. Not in the arena. Don’t they understand that they don’t have to share this pain? It is my burden to bear. The stress that’s been building up over the past two days nearly bubbles over. I only just manage to contain it.

“Fine. I’m going to have a nap.” There’s little chance of me actually managing to get any sleep but at least no one will expect me to talk. I flop down onto the bed, sinking down into the soft and fluffy bed coverings. Peeta catches Haymitch’s eye and jerks his head towards the bed. Haymitch raises an eyebrow. It always unnerves me a little when people start having conversations via body language when I can see them.

Peeta takes his shoes off before sliding onto the bed, settling himself on my right hand side. Haymitch doesn’t bother with his footwear. Giving himself a few steps run up he actually jumps onto the bed, sending Peeta and I bouncing up and down.

“Who invited the pair of you?” I ask, digging my elbows into them both as I lay there with my eyes closed.

“Well I _am_ your fake boyfriend.” Peeta quips.

“I’m always invited.” Haymitch mumbles through a yawn. This sets off a chain reaction of yawns, first me and then Peeta.

Lying there between them I feel as warm and cosy as if I was at a fireside back home in District 12. I pretend I’m there in my house, the real home that I grew up in, not the cold opulent place that the Capitol has given me. I imagine sitting beside the fire, watching a rabbit roast over the open flame and knowing that Prim will not go hungry tonight. In that moment I am almost happy.

\-----

Effie wakes us for dinner. Both Haymitch and Peeta rub at bleary eyes and I know that I’m not the only one who fell asleep. They have to stop me from walking down to dinner still dressed as I was for the opening ceremony, with my makeup well and truly smudged. This time they do leave the room when I ask them to.

I scrub my face raw removing the heavy makeup. The clothes I choose are plain and simple, the sort of thing I’d be comfortable in at home. By the time I arrive at dinner Haymitch and Peeta have managed to both get changed and seat themselves. They’ve left a space for me, between Haymitch and Cinna. Peeta is opposite.

I avoid everyone’s gaze. I do not know how much Portia and Cinna know but the conversation at the table does not flow naturally. It stops and starts jerkily as I force myself to eat. Nothing feels real. This whole business with Darius seems like a nightmare. I wonder if Peeta will tell Gale. It would be better if he didn’t. Gale would take the news worse than I have.

It only gets worse when we retire to the main room to watch the opening ceremony recap. I hate every moment of it. The costumes are the worst part. Few of us look anything close to dignified until Haymitch and I come out. I’ve seen what I look like, the girl on fire. The mirror spoke truthfully. 

But I am surprised by just how fierce Haymitch looks. Out in the open his hair looks as though it is the sun, the flames from his outfit combining with the design drawn into his beard to make it effectively look as though his hair has become fire itself. Cinna squeezes my hand and I look over to find him beaming proudly at me. I squeeze back.

“Get some sleep Katniss.” He says, his voice as warm as embers. I bid everyone a good night and head to my room. There’s several sheets of paper on my night table covered in Peeta’s handwriting. Notes from his viewings of the tapes. I read them as quickly as possible, trying and failing to use district numbers instead of names as I store the information in my head. My bed is cold when I crawl into it and it takes me hours to fall asleep. Once I do my dreams quickly turn to nightmares. 

\-----

I sit in my room for ages, abandoning any attempt to sleep in the early hours of morning. By the time I make it down to breakfast the food has gone cold. Peeta is sketching in a small book full of blank pages. Haymitch looks like death warmed up. There are dark circles under his eyes and his skin is eerily pale. He doesn’t appear to have touched any of the food piled on the plate in front of him. 

“You’re late.” Haymitch says, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples.

“You look awful.” I blurt out. Peeta bites back a laugh.

“Sweetheart, we’ve got to teach you a thing or two about tact.” He chastises me. 

“How did you sleep, Katniss?” Peeta inquires, as Haymitch takes a sip of the steaming drink in front of him. With a groan he spits it back out.

“Not well. Nightmares.” I answer, picking up a piece of fruit and biting into it. Sweet juices burst over my tongue as I chew. Peeta nods understandingly as Effie enters the room.

“Ah, good. You’re up.” She says, absurdly bright. Not awake, I notice, up. She glances over at Haymitch, who holds up his wrist and shakes it at her. It’s only then that I observe the golden, flame patterned bangle that adorns it. As he places his hand down on the table I watch as he stares mournfully at the jewellery.

“What’s that?” I ask, nodding towards the bangle.

“Oh. It’s gold. A symbol. Like your pin and my hair. We’re a team.” Effie stutters out. “I thought it would be a nice touch. A uniform of sorts.”

“What’s Peeta’s uniform?” My eyes scan him but there’s no hint of gold anywhere that I can see.

“We’ve discussed it but it’s going to take a few days to assemble.” Effie replies. She exchanges a tight smile with Peeta. 

“It’s a nice thought Effie. Thank you.” I say. She must have been teetering on the edge because she instantly bursts into tears.

“It’s just not fair.” She chokes out between sobs. Peeta is by her side within moments, murmuring soothing words to her. It all comes so easily to him. He would be at home beside my mother and Prim, healing people as much with their words as with medicines. The rest of the words garble together although I’m fairly certain that she says ‘late’ at one point.

“You should head down to training.” Peeta instructs us. I’m grateful for the excuse to leave. I love Effie but right now I need her to be strong. No, that’s not fair of me. She has been strong, but I can’t see her moments of weakness.

I grab Haymitch and drag him to the elevator. He leans against the wall before the doors have even closed. The tremors in his hands have returned.

“Haymitch?” He looks as though he struggling not to be sick.

“No, I haven’t slept if that’s what you were going to ask.” He bites at me. I jump, not used to him being so sharp.

“Sorry.” He apologises, rubbing at his eyes.

“No. Don’t be.” I tell him. That he hasn’t slept well is obvious. The nightmares can’t be any less frequent for him. I realise that I never asked Peeta what he wants me to focus on in training.

“Mr Mentor given us any instructions for training?” Haymitch nods.

“Peeta and I had a strategy chat while you were dawdling in your room.” He tells me. I don’t like the thought of them discussing plans without me but it’s my own fault so I bite my tongue and let Haymitch continue.

“We’re going to need allies. Chaff and I go a long way back. I know Seeder well. They’ll be on board with any alliance I propose to them. Today you need to introduce yourself to the other victors. Figure out who, if anyone, you want on our team.”

My mouth twists as I imagine allying with the Careers. It stirs up unpleasant memories of Peeta tagging along with the Careers last year in the hopes of finding me before they did. We step out of the elevator and walk down the new, pristine corridors to the training facilities.

“I’m not having anyone who vol- who’s from District 1, 2, or 4 on my team.” I catch myself on the word ‘volunteer’. After all, I volunteered as tribute. Should I really allow myself to judge or would that make me a hypocrite?

“I’m not going to force you into anything. But don’t rule people out without giving them a chance.” He says as we enter the huge room that has been done up especially for the tributes of the third quarter quell. Only District 2 is there. I take one look at the filed sharp points of Enobaria’s teeth before I decide that in no circumstances will I be an ally of hers. Brutus skulks about behind her. I draw a line through his name on the list inside my head.

30 minutes later and only half the tributes have shown up. We are given a rundown of the stations and then we are free to explore and use them as we please. I lose track of Haymitch immediately. I assume he’s headed off with Chaff. Over the next few hours I drift between several stations. The knot tying station feels like it’s going well until Finnick shows up and outshines every one of my comparatively pitiful attempts. It’s harder to hate him when he playfully pretends to hang himself.

The fire making station goes better, even if actually starting a fire without matches takes me close to an hour. It still gives me a sense of accomplishment. It’s only then that I realise District 3 has joined me, their success far more limited. I look for Haymitch but he’s at none of the stations I can see. 

Allies. There’s no reason why they wouldn’t be as good as anyone else. I help them with their fire and they tell me about the situation back in District 3. The impromptu code we use is effective, and I soon know that there has been mass unrest. I feel terrible that I cannot give them more promising news from District 12. 

We pause when one of the District 5 tributes throws up nearby, severely inebriated. My own stomach roils. That so easily could have been Haymitch, but I haven’t seen him drink anything since the reaping. I didn’t realise how grateful I was to have him sober.

Like Johanna, Wiress and Beetee make me feel like a failure when it comes to talents. The inventions they tell me they’ve been pioneering sound amazing. I’m jealous of their ingenuity. Finally, after almost an hour and a half, Beetee succeeds in starting a fire. Wiress congratulates him warmly, her voice trailing off before she finishes the sentence but the meaning clear.

Just before lunch is called they point out the telltale sign of a force field in front of Plutarch Heavensbee and the rest of the Gamemakers. I assume it is as a thankyou for helping them with the fire. It’s difficult to make out but after a few minutes I can see the odd shimmering square that indicates that the space wasn’t as empty as it seemed.

I’d be happy to sit with Haymitch, District 3 and District 11 at lunch but by the time I’ve grabbed my meal there’s a dozen tributes sitting at a large table cobbled together from smaller ones. Some of the tributes hadn’t even shown up to training. I sit down next to Haymitch, hoping that Seeder or Wiress will take the empty seat on the other side, but it is Johanna who ends up occupying it.

The conversation is loud and tawdry. Chaff, who is sitting opposite Haymitch, spends the whole meal making jokes. Most of them at his or Haymitch’s expense. Johanna is more than happy to join in and I find myself surrounded by injokes and raucous laughter. At least this time Haymitch eats something. My salad is fresh and crunchy. I take a single bite from the bread roll before abandoning the remainder. Peeta’s are infinitely nicer.

It feels more like being at school than among a group of proven killers of wildly varying ages. Towards the end of the meal someone makes a joke about District 4 and Finnick makes a big show of acting offended before pelting them with pieces of bread. Other tributes start throwing leftovers and it looks headed for a full scale food fight before Capitol attendants hurry over to break it up. They’re clearly unable to see the lack of malicious intent and treat it as an act of genuine aggression. It takes Chaff nearly ten minutes to convince them that it was all done in jest.

I’m glad when we are allowed to return to the stations. I try spending some time with District 8 but it is too much for me to handle. Woof is old and senile, and Cecelia has three children. It hurts to be around them. When District 1 asks me to go to the hammock station with them I do, but do not stay long. I’ve already made my mind up against them and whenever I look at them I see Cato and Marvel dying. I don’t bother with Enobaria. 

I immediately take a liking to the old woman at the fishhook making station. Finnick materialises out of nowhere to help introduce us. She cannot speak but her fingers have not lost their touch as she makes hook after hook out of a variety of materials. My own fingers feel huge and clumsy in comparison. 

“She volunteered, didn’t she?” I ask Finnick, as Mags’s nimble fingers fly over another hook. For the first time since I have met him, Finnick is unable to speak. Instead he just nods and I can see his eyes start to water. Mags stops making her hook and pulls Finnick into a hug. I feel like I am intruding on a private moment so I slip away.

Tired of finding allies I go to the archery range. It’s a pleasant escape from everything that is happening and I shoot well. It’s only after I finish that I notice my audience. Mags gives me a thumbs up accompanied by a toothless grin. The smile I attempt in return is so weak it feels meaningless. I leave without speaking to anyone.

“How did it go?” Peeta asks me as I slump exhausted onto the sofa.

“Wiress, Beetee, Mags.” I reply. The ghost of a grin appears on Peeta’s face.

“You were expecting that, weren’t you?” Peeta nods.

“I don’t always understand what’s going on inside your head, but when it comes to the people you choose as your friends you’re easy to predict Katniss. Haymitch tried to get me to bet money on it but there was no bet to take. We were in agreement.” I throw a pillow at him and he lets out a cry of protest.

“Careful, you’ll smudge the ink.” He’s been redoing some of the linework on his sketch, having coloured it while I was out training. 

“Can I see?” I gesture at the drawing. Peeta turns the pad over, looking pleased that I’ve asked.  
The page is alight with flames, dark bold lines in the centre depicting myself and Haymitch riding around the stadium. It’s as though Peeta’s hand is a camera, projecting the recorded image onto the page.

“It’s amazing Peeta. Really, it’s stunning.” He averts his gaze and his cheeks colour.

“Thanks.” He murmurs. We sit for a few minutes in silence before Peeta excuses himself. The awful awkwardness of the Victory Tour is still there whenever it’s just the two of us, with no one else around to diffuse the tension. He still hasn’t forgiven me for my part in the deal with Haymitch. We’re all as bad as each other.

Effie comes in not long after and I let her chatter away because it means she does not expect me to join in the conversation. The gold of her wig is brighter and she’s used a gold liner on her eyelids. I find myself reflecting on the rare occasion that they found gold down in the mines. One time one of the men had gotten himself in serious trouble trying to keep a few small pieces. We never saw him again.

“Is it real?” I ask and Effie stutters to a halt.

“Is what real?” She queries, confused.

“The gold in your hair. Is it real gold or just a substitute?” I clarify for her. Effie laughs her strange high laugh.

“They use it in the colour, so I suppose it is. Yes.” There are only two places it could have come from. District 1 or District 12. I’m surprised by how much I am hoping it came from my district. Effie is my team. The future tributes from 12 will be hers. It would be nice if there was a tiny bit of home with her. Nicer than coal dust anyway.

There’s only five of us at dinner. Haymitch never returned after training. It’s all delicious but the mood in the room is somber. When Haymitch does find his way back to the rooms - several hours later after Cinna and Portia have already departed for their own living quarters - he looks brighter and happier than he has since the reaping. There’s colour in his skin again and there’s no sign of the trembling that had so affected him earlier. 

“Nice shooting.” He directs the compliment at me, flopping onto the only unoccupied couch in the room.

“I think we’ve got our pick of the bunch, 1 and 2 excluded.” Haymitch tells us. Peeta looks mildly annoyed. Normally mentors approach each other to make alliances before the Games start. It’s clearly not just the team of District 12 that’s having trouble adjusting to the reality of Peeta as the mentor and Haymitch as the tribute.

“She wants District 3.” Peeta informs Haymitch. There’s no trace of surprise on his face.

“And Mags.” I add. Haymitch smiles at me.

“Of course you do.” He replies with a chuckle. I narrow my eyes at him, which only makes him laugh harder.

“I’m going to bed.” I announce, suddenly feeling irritable.

“Are you okay?” Peeta asks, concerned.

“I’m fine.” I’m too sharp, I know I am, but my body and mind have rather abruptly decided that they would like to sleep immediately. I wish them a good night and leave them to discuss alliances by themselves. My opinions on the matter aren’t exactly useful. If I had my way it would just be Haymitch and I in the arena but it’s clear that is not a real option. Maybe I can work it down to just District 11, I think as I strip off my clothes and slip under the blankets. It’s the last thing I remember before I fall asleep.

\------

The final day of training arrives before I know it. After that first day I avoid almost everyone whenever I can. Seeder and I eat lunch together while Haymitch sits with Chaff and an ever changing number of other tributes. I’m able to light a fire within twenty minutes now and my hooks are consistently deemed passable by Mags, who hasn’t attended any other station since we arrived. Haymitch’s shaking and clammy skin returns after a few days, and Peeta and I have to force him to eat. Usually this involved him yelling irritably at us before finally having a small plate of something just to get us to stop nagging.

On occasion I come across Haymitch deep in conversation with another tribute only to have them stop and invite me to join them chatting some cheery nonsense that was obviously not what they had been talking about. More often than not he’s floating between the poisonous insects and edible plants. I’ve been neglecting both those stations. No doubt he’s remembering the sweet, beautiful, but deadly arena of the Second Quarter Quell. If I’d lived through that I would want to be certain about the flora and fauna I was coming up against too.

“What are you going to do for the Gamemakers?” I ask as we get ready for the private sessions at the end of the day.

“Well my main skill is drinking, but I don’t think that’s going to get me much of a score.” He jokes. It doesn’t fill me with confidence. The wait is long. Haymitch tries to have a nap, stretching himself out on the narrow bench next to me and closing his eyes. I can tell that he never quite manages it.

“Haymitch Abernathy.” The Capitol attendant calls after what feels like days. There’s no hurry on Haymitch’s part, as he slowly gets to his feet and ambles across the room.

“See you on the other side.” He says to me, before disappearing through the door. I end up walking laps, trying to keep my nerves down now that I am the only tribute remaining. I’m so focused on my own gait that I jump when they call my name.

The walk into the room watched by the Gamemaker’s feels like miles, the only sound that I can hear is the echo of my footsteps bouncing off the walls. All eyes are on me, so different to last time. There is no laughter, no merry drinking.

“Katniss Everdeen. District Twelve.” I announce myself clearly, my gaze as hot and fiery as the flames I was dressed in for the opening ceremony. All my rage and hatred is channeled into it and directly squarely at Plutarch Heavensbee. He does not flinch, meeting my gaze with a small smile on his face. An idea begins to form in my mind. I can make that smile vanish.

I’m no artist, there’s no delicacy or finesse in my touch. Cinna and Peeta could both do what I am about to and make it look hundreds of times better. But this isn’t about art, it is about a message. 15 minutes later I bow before the Gamemakers, an effigy of Seneca Crane hanging from the ceiling behind me. Most of the Gamemakers gasp, clutching their chests as though I’d shot them all with an arrow. But not Plutarch Heavensbee. His smile broadens.

I’ve played my hand. The fear I tried to instill hasn’t touched him. I’ve failed.

__________  
INTERLUDE  
__________

Haymitch meets Plutarch’s eyes as he enters the room. It’s been a long session and Haymitch knows that many of his fellow victors have demonstrated very little. He is not the girl on fire. He is not the Mockingjay. If he wants to make an impression he’s going to need to make a statement. As he steps up to the mark Plutarch nods. It’s a tiny movement, but it’s meaning is clear. _Whatever you do, I am with you._

“Haymitch Abernathy. District Twelve.” He drawls. From its protective sheath he pulls his knife. He sits down on the floor, crossing his legs and placing his left hand out in front of him with the fingers spread. The point of the knife settles in the space between his forefinger and thumb. This is clearly unexpected, as there is some movement up amongst the Gamemakers now.

“A Nation’s Strength, by Ralph Waldo Emerson.” He announces clearly. Focusing carefully, as his hand shakes slightly, Haymitch starts to move the point of the knife between the spaces. 

_What makes a nation’s pillars high_  
And it’s foundations strong?  
What makes it mighty to defy  
The foes that round it throng? 

The tap tap tap of the knife point gently punctuates each word as he carefully recites the poem. Haymitch’s voice is as steady and rhythmic as a metronome.

_It is not gold. Its kingdoms grand_  
Go down in battle shock;  
It’s shafts are laid on sinking sand,  
Not on abiding rock. 

One of the Gamemakers gasps as the interval between each meeting of knife and floor begins to shorten.

_Is it the sword? Ask the red dust_  
Of empires passed away;  
The blood has turned their stones to rust,  
Their glory to decay. 

Someone calls for Haymitch to be removed.

_And is it pride? Ah, that bright crown_  
Has seemed to nations sweet;  
But God has struck its luster down  
In ashes at his feet. 

Haymitch has hit his stride now, the knife a blur as it flies across his hand. The Gamemakers are on their feet. The only one who is not exhibiting signs of distress is Plutarch.

_Not gold but men and women can make_  
A people great and strong;  
Those who for truth and honour’s sake  
Stand fast and suffer long. 

He’s changed a few words to make it applicable to multiple genders.

_Brave ones who work while others sleep,_  
Who dare while others fly…  
They build a nation’s pillars deep  
And lift them to the sky. 

For the final verse Haymitch looks up at the Gamemakers as his knife still taps away, the sharp point landing millimeters away from flesh. It’s instinct, trusting years of practice to prevent him from slicing through the skin by mistake. On the word sky Haymitch stabs the knife down hard, the metal digging into the concrete that only a moment before had been covered by his hand. Up in the area enclosed in the forcefield, someone faints. He sheathes his knife and stows it safely away.

“For your consideration.”


	3. The Interviews

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the ridiculous delay. I've had a lot of trouble with getting this chapter to flow. I'm already working on the next one and it's going much smoother.

When I arrive back at our rooms Peeta, Effie, and Haymitch are gathered around the table. My heart is still thundering in my chest as I remember the uproar and commotion I’d caused amongst the Gamemakers. 

Haymitch is twirling his knife in his hand while Peeta points at something on table and talks as though there isn’t a sharp object frequently passing centimetres from the exposed flesh of his arm. Peeta is used to the knife, as I am, but Effie is clearly unsettled by it and keeps shifting in her seat as an attempt to distance herself. Doing my best to appear calm and unaffected I take the seat beside Haymitch and lean over trying to see what they’re looking at.

“It’s interview notes.” He says, leaning back so that I can see Peeta’s neat and even writing covering a half dozen pages, spread out in front of the three of them. Occasionally there are notes and corrections in the flowing, looped hand of Effie but more common is the shaky chicken scratch that I know belongs to Haymitch.

“Great. What’s the plan?” I ask, my heart now located somewhere in the vicinity of my throat. I’d been so consumed with the evaluations that for a few minutes I’d allowed myself to forget that the interviews followed. 

“Cinna has assured us that you will be perfectly okay in his capable hands.” Haymitch informs me, wiggling the fingers of the hand not presently toying with a weapon.

“There are six pages in front of you.” I point out.

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t that seem a bit excessive? It’s only a few minutes long, what could you possibly have to say that would take six pages of notes?” It comes out a lot more accusatory than I intended.

“It’s mostly brainstorming.” Haymitch replies airily.

“But why do you have six pages of brainstorming and I’ve just got to go trust Cinna.” It’s not that I mind, it’s more that I feel like I’m being shut out of a conversation.

“You don’t trust Cinna?” Haymitch questions, fixing me with his inscrutable gaze. I can’t tell if I’m being distracted or mocked,but I recoil as though I’ve been slapped.

“Of course I trust Cinna. With my life.” I reply hotly. 

“Look Katniss, the fact is that you’re the Girl on Fire. You go out there, they remember you. You’ve grown a lot since last year but to them you’re still that girl that beat the system with berries and love. They can’t forget that. They can’t forget you. Everything about you is just fertiliser for their emotions. Volunteers for her sister, nearly kills herself to save her lover, now a cruel twist of fate is threatening to separate them again and just so soon before they were about to get married and start their happily ever after.” Haymitch explains patiently.

“But I’d never have been able to win without you. How can they not see that?” I already know the answer. How could they? Even most of the Capitol doesn’t really know what goes into running, or winning a Hunger Games. They don’t want to.

“Because it doesn’t make a good story.” Peeta interjects bitterly. “It didn’t happen in front of their faces so they remember the bits they like and forget the bits they don’t.” I must be staring at him because he straightens himself up in his chair.

“What? He saved my life too.” He adds defensively. 

“What the boys are trying to say is the Capitol has a selective memory. 25 years is a long time. Many of the audience around today would not have been born when…” Effie’s voice trails off.

“But it was the Second Quarter Quell! Twice as many tributes and a win by-” I start angrily but Haymitch cuts across me.

“Using an object not intended as a weapon to deliver the winning blow. I haven’t exactly been getting a lot of screentime in the last quarter century. I don’t think anyone is more grateful that I’ve been locking myself away drinking than President Snow.” He glares disdainfully at the glass of sparkling water on the table in front of him.

“So make them remember.” 

“Let it be noted that Katniss’s contributions to our interview plans are ‘make them remember’.” Haymitch drawls, sounding faintly amused. I punch him in the arm.

“You’re not taking this seriously.” I say accusingly. Haymitch lays his knife on the table - Effie breaths an audible sigh of relief - and takes both my hands in his. They’re cold and clammy but I push that from my mind as he looks me in the eye.

“Sweetheart, you yourself commented on the excessive notes so let’s not play this game. I am doing my very best. Every scrap of resources I have at my disposal has gone into making sure that this team is as ready as it can be. But right now I need you to focus on you, and your interview. Let me focus on me. Can you do that?” He looks at me expectantly, so I nod.

“Are you okay? We haven’t asked how your evaluation went.”

“I hanged Seneca Crane.” Effie gasps, Peeta smiles, and Haymitch starts laughing.

“Of course you did.” He says, squeezing my hands before letting them go. “You gave them something new, that’s got to count for something.”

“What did you do?” I ask.

“Recited a poem.” Haymitch answers nonchalantly. I can believe that Mags might actually have a nap during her evaluation but Haymitch and poetry? Something about it doesn’t feel right. I know there must be something more but I don’t push. 

“She hanged the old Head Gamemaker. You actually hanged him?” Effie keeps repeating. 

“That’s what she said.” Peeta says, putting a hand gently on her arm in an effort to calm her down. “The damage is done Effie, we can’t change it now. We’ll just have to adapt and deal with it, whatever the outcome.” Effie beams at him.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. Thank goodness for that level head of yours.” She says. I mouth the words ‘thank you’ at Peeta.

“If I’d been in that room there’s no saying what sort of stupid thing I would have done.” He adds casually. 

“No, don’t say that. You’re the good one. I can’t have three of you running about getting up to all sorts of mischief.” Effie chastises him lightly. 

The tension that had been building breaks and I smile as they all settle back into their planning, but my mind keeps wandering. Effie has practically confirmed that Haymitch has been doing more over the past week than he’s been letting on, and it worries me. There’s nothing I can do about that now though, so I listen to them bounce around ideas while I wait for Cinna.

There is no polite chit chat when he arrives with Portia in tow. Everyone gets little more than a hello before Cinna whisks me away into the elevator, leaving Portia behind to be filled in by the others.

“How are you?” He asks as the elevator begins to move. This is not a polite formality. He genuinely wants to know.

“Nervous, anxious, and very, very tired. But other than that I’m great.” I reply as we come to a stop. The doors slide open and we step out. Cinna smiles at me and gestures for me to follow him.

“I’ll see what I can do about that.” He says, his voice rich and warm as he unlocks what I realise is the door to his rooms. They are as large and luxurious as ours although most of the main room is taken up by half finished dresses, reams of material, and pages of sketched designs.

We sit among the incomplete body of Cinna’s work as he runs me through his plan. It essentially amounts to being myself while acknowledging that I am now a crowned and celebrated killer, not the innocent girl I was a year ago. 

“That’s not what I said Katniss.” Cinna scolds me lightly, the third time I refer to myself as a killer. He is the only person that I feel like I’m not unnecessarily burdening if I am completely honest. 

“It doesn’t change the fact that I am.” I still wake up some nights unable to shake the feeling that I have sticky blood coating my hands. On the worst nights I can taste the metallic tang on my tongue, as though I’ve torn apart the stringy flesh of someone’s neck with my teeth. My guilt is so mixed with my fear that I don’t know if I can separate the two anymore.

“You did what you had to. You survived.” He tells me and I can see that he really believes it. He sounds like Haymitch. It’s true enough. Physically I have hardly changed. But the girl I was before died in the arena the moment I sent an arrow through Marvel’s neck. I think Cinna must see that this line of conversation is going to lead us nowhere productive, as he tactfully changes the topic to the clothes that I will be wearing.

There is a moment - after he informs me that President Snow has ‘requested’ I wear my wedding gown - that I consider refusing. Then the rational side of me regains control of my brain and I find myself following Cinna down to the powder rooms near the interview stage with the understanding of exactly what it will mean if I don’t comply with President Snow’s wishes.

It feels like it takes an eternity to get dressed and made up. There’s no windows down here and I have no idea how much time has really passed. The dress itself is beautiful and I tell Cinna so, as he puts the finishing touches on my makeup.

“Thank you, Katniss.” He says, with a sad smile on his face. “I think it’s the best one I’ve ever made.”

Peeta knocks on the door just as Cinna finishes instructing me not to twirl or raise my arms until the end of the interview.

“Wow.” Peeta says, momentarily stunned into silence by my appearance.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” It’s neither sad nor joking, but falls somewhere between the two. I’d never understood the term ‘joyful sorrow’ but that was how Cinna spoke now.

“It’s time.” Peeta sputters.

“Don’t let them forget who you are, Girl on Fire.” They’re the last words that Cinna says to me before he allows Peeta to whisk me away to the the side of the stage. I’ve barely had a moment to myself since I left the evaluation and I’m starting to feel like I’m being suffocated.

“Are you all right Katniss?” Peeta asks as we head up the final flight of stairs before the wings.

“I’m fine.” I reply dismissively, holding my dress above my ankles so that I don’t trip. There are only two tributes left waiting in the wings. Johanna Mason appears to have had some kind of wardrobe malfunction and taps her feet impatiently as an assistant scrambles to repair a broken seam. Haymitch is still waiting to be called for his interview.

“You’re late.” Haymitch whispers, as the crowd bursts into raucous laughter at one of Chaff’s jokes. It’s entirely unnecessary because I became aware of that the moment I saw that he was the only other tribute still waiting to be interviewed. He looks more anxious than I’ve ever seen him.

“I didn’t mean to be.” There had been no timekeeping equipment in my powder room, and at no point had a Capitol attendant come to alert us to the beginning of the interviews. I was starting to suspect that someone high up was hoping that I would arrive late.

“I had to send out a search party.” He adds, nodding towards Peeta. 

“You didn’t send me anywhere. I went of my own accord.” Peeta insists quietly. 

“Well you should be going to find your seat of your own accord. It won’t look good if our mentor isn’t sitting there watching our interviews.” Haymitch fires back. It is difficult to see in the dark but I think I can see Peeta’s cheeks colouring. He wishes us good luck and disappears off down the stairs.

“You okay?” Haymitch asks after a minute or so of tense, nervous silence. I open my mouth to say that I’m fine but somehow “No. I’m terrified and I think I’m going to throw up.” tumbles out instead. Haymitch reaches out and takes my hand, squeezing it.

“You’ll be fine, sweetheart. I mean you’ve got the acting abilities of a lump of coal and the public personality of stale bread, but I have supreme confidence in your ability to interview well if you let yourself stop overthinking everything.” I have no time to react to the mixture of backhanded compliments and actual advice before they’re calling my name.

“A wedding dress? Really?” Johanna, who has until now been determinedly pretending to ignore us, stage whispers to Haymitch.

“It wasn’t her idea. It was Snow’s.” It’s subtle but there’s a clear irritation in his tone. I’m almost out of earshot before Johanna speaks again, just loudly enough for me to hear over the cheer of the audience and Caesar’s flamboyant introduction for me.

“Make him pay.” I wish I could explain to her why I can’t do that, but there’s no time. Caesar’s teeth are threatening to blind me as my feet carry me towards him under the harsh stage lights. My eyes won’t adjust to the lights quickly enough, and the crowd is just a blur of dark shapes underneath a sea of blazing pale gold lights. 

I smile and laugh and joke with Caesar, swallowing my fears and worries down. My tongue feels too big for my mouth and my cheeks begin to ache, but I play my part. I’m in no danger of overthinking because I don’t even feel like I’m inhabiting my own body. 

The questions are predictable. Caesar asks me about Peeta, about my mother, about Prim, about Peeta again. My answers are short and sweet for the most part, long enough that I don’t look like I’m avoiding them but short enough that I haven’t really divulged anything of value. Several times I mention Effie and how invaluable she’s been to the District 12 team. She’ll be thrilled. 

“And what about your fellow tribute, Haymitch Abernathy? Last year he was your mentor and this year he’ll be joining you in the arena. Not just that, he actually volunteered to take the place of your fiance! How did that make you feel?” Caesar says, leaning in as he flashes me another of his blinding grins.

“Without Haymitch, I wouldn’t be sitting here today.” The crowd titters at that. The anger that I’d stowed deep down inside of me begins to bubble up again. It’s all just a story for them. Romance and tragedy, temporary and everchanging. There is none of the constant fear and destruction that permeates every aspect of the lives of the Districts.

“No. I mean that. If it wasn’t for Haymitch, Peeta and I would be dead. You have no idea what it’s like, to be a mentor.” I’m treading the line here. I know it. It’s all I can do to stop myself from blurting out a rant. From sitting there - looking every bit the radiant victor bride - and launching into a tirade.

“The hopelessness that comes from forcing yourself, year after year, to train two children. Because that’s what we are. Children. Not just train them to fight, but to train them to believe in themselves. To strategise. To pour your heart and soul into those children knowing that the best possible outcome is that only one of those kids makes it out the other end alive. Knowing that almost certainly won’t happen. Those children are going to die and there is nothing you can do to stop that. You think the games are the deadly part, but they’re not. It’s what happens after you ‘win’ that really kills you. So how does it make me feel? Well Caesar, I’m not sure those are words I’m allowed to say on this particular platform.” 

I haven’t said the words aloud. They’re still safe inside my head where they can’t get anyone I care about killed. But there must be something in my expression because Caesar gives a hollow, sombre nod of agreement and switches topics with such alarming ease and speed that I’m left scrambling to keep up.

The wedding seems to be a popular topic amongst the crowd as they respond enthusiastically to every little detail that I can supply.

“Now about the dress. Correct me if I’m wrong, but that is a custom made Cinna design, is it not?” Caesar asks me, running an appreciative eye over the lavish material.

“Yes. The best he’s ever made.” I reply. A spotlight shines down on Cinna and his gold eyeshadow glimmers and gleams as he accepts the applause of the audience. His expression is unreadable, a stark contrast to Peeta who is sitting next to him. There’s no denying the loving, sad but proud look on Peeta’s face. The only thing difficult about Peeta’s emotional display is determining how much of it is not an act. For the briefest of moments my gaze meets with Cinna’s, and he nods almost imperceptibly. It feels automatic as I rise to my feet.

“Yes, show us the masterpiece. How about a little twirl, Katniss?” Caesar babbles excitedly. My arm raise naturally as I start to spin. Dark wisps of smoke rise from my dress as I turn until the entire gown bursts into flames. 

The stage and the crowd blur together as I keep spinning. I know there must be sounds, screaming or clapping or something other than the fuzzy static that fills my ears, but I cannot hear it until I slow down and stop with my face to the crowd. There are screams now, gasps of wonder and shock.

I catch sight of myself in the monitors and am unable to hold back a smile as I recognise what I am. Caesar stumbles and trips over his words as he tries to describe what he’s just seen. I remind him of something that he can’t place.

“It’s a Mockingjay.” I say aloud. My voice is strange, deep and commanding and ethereal, as though it is coming from another place. Cinna has taken President Snow’s Victor Bride and shown the world who I really am.

That is the end of my interview. Caesar hurries me to the back of the stage so that I can climb onto the platforms where my other tributes stand. I take my place beside Chaff and wait for Haymitch to be called.

Caesar's voice is still as bright and cheery as ever, no sign of fatigue after having conducted 23 interviews over the course of several hours.

"And last, but most certainly not least, the winner of the Second Quarter Quell and mentor of the TWO Victors of last year's Hunger Games, from District 12 ladies and gentleman, Haymitch Abernathy." He announces, gesturing dramatically to the wings of the stage. I'm not entirely certain that he doesn’t have some kind of chemical helping him keep such stamina.

The crowd cheers as Haymitch steps out onto the stage. Now that he is under the intense lights I can see that his suit - well cut and perfectly tailored to fit - is as black as coal. The fabric is so dark and rich that it seems to absorb any light that touches it. 

Haymitch greets Caesar as though he is an old friend and for the first time I realise that he was almost certainly interviewed during the course of the Games. But this is the first time since Peeta and I were crowned co-Victors that he has been on camera and Caesar is clearly eager for something to sink his teeth into.

Superficially the conversation seems easy going, as Haymitch laughs and jokes naturally, but I know him well enough to see the fire simmering just below the surface. The topics switch smoothly from what it was like to help Peeta and I to victory, to the Second Quarter Quell, to Chaff and the other Victors. Caesar does his best to steer clear of myself and Peeta for a while, to build the anticipation of the crowd, but it is inevitable that he will return to us.

"Now I know this is going to be a sensitive subject, but we're all dying for a bit of insider knowledge. Katniss and Peeta, our tragic romance, the wedding that is unlikely to be." Caesar pauses to allow the crowd to sigh and whisper at each other, their faces contorting with emotions. I know that I am frowning, glaring at everyone who thinks they know what Peeta and I have gone through. Who think they know what it takes to be a Victor, what it costs to be a Victor. I don't care.

"What's it been like for them over the past few weeks? You've travelled on the Victory Tour with them and you share the Village. We know you're close. I asked Miss Everdeen but she was so frightfully cagey." Caesar turns to face me so that he can tut theatrically while waggling a finger. I've never thought of Haymitch as much of an actor, but while my face is a window to my mind his is utterly unreadable. I cannot tell what he is thinking as he turns to follow Caesar's gaze. As our eyes meet I instantly know that there is something that he and Peeta have not told me, something in their strategy that Cinna too either chose to conceal from me or was not aware of. 

"Oh you know how teenagers are. Every little emotion feels like a secret to kept. The truth is Caesar - and you may want to make sure you're holding on to your hair - is that Katniss and Peeta got married shortly after the announcement of the Third Quarter Quell." Heads turn to look at me as they cut to my face on the screens. I'm too stunned to react so I just stare blankly into the lights.

"I'm so sorry sweetheart, I know I've broken my promise not to tell." Haymitch says, covering for my obvious shock and turning it into the reaction of a young woman to a betrayal of trust. It is easy enough to glare at him as though I am furious that he has given away some secret I had been keeping. Peeta's face flashes up on to the screens. He smiles and laughs with the crowd as they whistle and cheer. 

Caesar looks like he is about to explode with this new bit of information, scooting to the very edge of his seat and leaning in towards Haymitch.

"A secret wedding?" He manages to squeak out, and I know that Haymitch has hooked him, as he has the entire room. There is no chance that this interview will not be replayed in the hours and days to come now. I am as impressed as I am angry.

"Not an official wedding, if you're of the opinion that it needs to be presided over to be considered valid or real. There's a tradition in District 12 called the Toasting, where the newly married couple takes a piece of bread each and toasts it over an open fire. It's not a true Seam wedding without a Toasting." Haymitch explains. I don't like the lie. It feels disingenuous, like an abuse of the trust of District 12 to falsify the occurrence of a Toasting. 

"Sounds real enough to me." Caesar interjects and the audience claps and cheers to indicate their agreement.

"The poor kids came to me in tears after the announcement of the Quarter Quell. Their happily ever after was shattered you see, and they wanted to at least make sure they could be married before they had to go back into the Arena. There was no time for anything binding but I was able to give them their Toasting." Haymitch continues. I wish he would stop talking, stop making this all about me. I can see where he is going with this, I know the question that is going to follow.

"You really do care about our young Victors, don't you? Is it that love that drove you to volunteer for our dear Peeta Mellark?" Caesar says gently, his voice heavy with emotion. Haymitch nods slowly.

"It doesn't matter what they do, from now until the day one of us dies, I will be their mentor. So yes, that's why I volunteered, Caesar. There was nothing I could do to save Katniss from having to go back into the Arena. But I could keep Peeta out. Now I only have to get Katniss to the end and then you can all have your wedding. They can have the life and love they deserve." I'm going to kill him. I'm going to smother him in his sleep tonight. There are people crying in the audience, face smudged with makeup. 

"Oh look what you've done, there won't be a dry eye left in the house. Such a noble sacrifice." Caesar said, pretending to dab at his own eyes. 

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let's hear it for our final Tribute, Haymitch Abernathy!" They're on their feet, stamping and applauding, some still crying pitifully into lace handkerchiefs. Haymitch bows for them then saunters his way up to take his place beside me. 

"One more time, give it up for your Tributes for the Third Quarter Quell and 75th Hunger Games!" I don't look at Haymitch as the lights shine over the 24 of us, standing there in our concentric semi circles. I'm too angry. Angry at him, at Peeta. But mostly I'm just enraged at every one of the naive and gullible idiots who make up the audience. They've no idea. None at all. I don't even think when Chaff nudges me with his stump, I just grasp it firmly with my hand. On the other side Haymitch slips his fingers through mine. We raise our arms in unison, breathing as one. This is a decision we have made spontaneously and simultaneously. For a few seconds we stand there, a wall of defiance against the might of the Capitol. 

Everything goes black. 

It is a small victory, but it will not go unnoticed by the Districts.

I am angry. 

I am afraid.

I let go off Chaff as we are herded off the stage. Some people in the audience are screaming, terrified by the sudden plunge into darkness.

But I don't let go of Haymitch. I keep a tight hold through the furious warnings that are yelled at us once we are out of hearing range of the stage, through the security escort that moves us through the dressing rooms, through the agonisingly slow and silent elevator ride back to our rooms. I only let go once the doors have closed behind our escort. All at once my fury and fear comes tumbling out.

"What the hell were you thinking?" I yell, wrenching my hand from Haymitch's. He doesn't even flinch and I know that he was expecting this.

"We were -" Haymitch starts to explain but I won't let him.

"What happened to me looking after me while you looked after you? Everything about the interviewed was calculated so that I would come out looking better, to make them support me. Nothing was about you. Six pages. Six pages of lies!" I push down the rising nausea as I realise that if I'm angry at Haymitch then I should be downright furious with Cinna.

"Did you tell Cinna to make me the Mockingjay?" I demand, summoning all my strength not to lash out and start punching him.

"No." Haymitch says and I find myself believing him. Then he adds slowly, “Katniss, I need you to trust me. I know what I’m doing, I promise you.” 

"We'll never make it into the Arena. They'll kill us all in our beds, Prim and Mom and Gale back home too. It was too much. My interview, my dress, the hand holding. They won't even bother with the Games. We're all dead." My voice cracks and Haymitch moves a hand to comfort me but I snatch it midair. I dig my nails in as hard as I can but his expression does not change.

"The broadcast is a few seconds delayed. They would have cut before the hand holding." Haymitch says soothingly. It does little to assuage my worries, but I do relax my grip on his hand.

"But the dress...the Mockingjay. I said it. I said it was a Mockingjay. There’s no claiming innocence. I can't...Prim..." The words won't come out like I want them too and I stumble over them again and again. 

"Sweetheart, stop. Take a couple of nice deep breaths. Can you do that for me?" I'd rather break his nose but I comply with his request. Infuriatingly it does help, pushing back at the flood of anxiety that threatens to overwhelm me.

"Why did you do it?" I ask, once I've regained a modicum of composure.

"Do what?" Haymitch asks innocently. This time I don't even try to stop myself, thumping him solidly in the arm.

"Don't play that game. I am not in the mood. You and Peeta, Effie too, you all conspired to make me come out of this the favourite." I say accusingly. Haymitch nods.

"Most people would be delighted. But then, you're not most people are you?" He's aiming for dry but there's an affection in his voice that keeps it from being as caustic as he hoped. I open my mouth to respond but it is at that moment that Peeta and Effie come bursting in.

"You were perfect!" Effie titters, sweeping Haymitch and I up into hugs in turn, oblivious to the tension in the room. Peeta hangs back, his face grim.

"How much trouble are we in?" Haymitch asks, brushing Effie aside as politely but quickly as he can.

"The Districts saw the hand holding start but not the raised arms. I'm not sure how much of the dress went out but I'm pretty sure that they didn't realise what she was until it was too late. One of the Gamemakers, not Heavensbee, one of the junior ones - Silversand I think her name was - she gave us a pretty thorough lecture on the dangers of such a display. Nothing outright, just a lot of insinuations and code talk." Peeta replies. I feel ill. My hands are shaking.

“Katniss? Are you okay?” Effie hurries over to me, face full of concern. 

“You look so pale!” She exclaims as presses the back of hand to my forehead. “And cold!”

I bat her hand away. Effie takes a step back in surprise but I can see that I haven’t offended her.

“Sorry. I’m just…” I trail off. Tired. Scared. Totally and desperately afraid for the safety and wellbeing of everyone that I hold dear. Guilty that I can’t protect them all from anything that might wish to harm them.

“I understand.” Effie says softly, a sad smile on her face. Strangely I find myself believing her. For all her Capitol manners and upbringing, she knows the cost of the Games more than most.

“I’m going to my room.” I announce, already walking away before I finish the sentence.

“It’s almost dinner time.” Peeta interjects. I barely pause to look at him.

“I’m not hungry.” It’s not a lie. I couldn’t eat right now, not even if you put a pot of chocolate in front of me. My stomach is churning so much that if I drank milk you’d have butter in minutes. Effie and Peeta exchange worried glances but Haymitch is looking directly at me. I get the distinct impression that he can read my mind. I quicken my pace until I’m almost jogging to my room. It’s a relief to finally reach the door and slip inside.

I close the door firmly behind me and it's only then that I feel safe to let out the tears that I've been holding back. I can't do this. There's not enough left in me, to go through another day of this sheer, raw terror. It feels like I have failed already.

I don't know how much times passes as I lay on my bed and try not to think about Gale being tortured or Prim being murdered, it all being broadcast to the Districts as an example of what happens when you become a Mockingjay. Effie opens the door at one point and slides in a tray of food, but she is smart enough not to say anything to me before closing it behind her.

The food stays there, untouched. My brain goes over scenarios again and again, each more terrible than the last. 

There is a knock at the door, a pause long enough to allow me to turn the person away, and then it swings open. Haymitch steps in and waits just inside the doorway, giving me more time to decline him entry. When I don't he lets the door close with a light click.

"You don't have to protect me." I blurt it out so fast that it surprises me when I realise that it's what I've been stewing over, the thought that someone else feels responsible for me.

"And you don't have to protect me. Or any of the rest of us." Haymitch tells me, as he lays down beside me on the bed.

"Of course I do. It's my fault that any of you are in danger. It's all I can think about. All the things I shouldn't have done. I wish I could turn back time, eat those cursed berries and just let Peeta win. Then you'd all be safe and none of this would be happening." I didn't intend to be so honest. It feels like I've just handed Haymitch a piece of my soul. 

"We all have our regrets, Katniss." He doesn't elaborate. I don't need him to. The ghosts of the Arena hang over all of us.

"I can't switch it off."

"I know." 

We fall into silence. My stomach is churning, every fibre of my being feels like it's vibrating with fear. Maybe I could keep them safer if I just -

"No." I have no idea how Haymitch knew what I was thinking, but that single word was enough to halt the line of thought in its tracks. 

"Promise me you won't." I can feel his eyes on me, as I stare resolutely at the ceiling.

"Promise me." He presses when I don't reply.

"I promise." 

Time crawls along relentlessly. I am exhausted but I am sure that there is no chance that I will sleep tonight. 

I don't remember falling asleep.

For the most part my dreams are empty. Me, alone in the arena unable to find Haymitch. Me, coming home to find that it has been stripped bare and there is nothing left but the walls, Prim and my mother gone. 

There is one particularly awful one, where the Arena is really just a large room where President Snow has everyone I care about held in a circle around me. Prim, my mother, Gale, Peeta, Madge, Haymitch, Effie, Cinna. Then he tosses me a knife and tells me that I have to choose. Everyone can leave the Arena, alive, except for one. 

I don’t even hesitate, picking up the knife and slicing it through my own throat as they all scream at me. I wake up in a panic, clutching at my throat and expecting to find it wet. There is a line of imaginary fire where I cut through the flesh and it takes a moment for me to convince myself it was only a dream.

“Katniss! Hey, hey, you’re okay. You’re in your room.” Haymitch is still there, lying on the bed beside me. He reaches out a hand and touches it to my forearm. It instantly grounds me. His skin is rough and warm and real. Reassurance that this isn’t some odd hallucination as my brain slowly dies as I bleed to death on the floor of the Arena.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” I mumble, as I try to get my heart rate back under control. My breathing is too fast.

“I wasn’t sleeping.” He replies simply. I take in the relaxed posture, one hand still resting lazily behind his head, and briefly wonder if he had been watching me. At that moment the door bursts open and Peeta rushes into the room.

“I heard screaming. Are you all right?” He asks, breathlessly. The mussed hair and wrinkled shirt suggests that he was asleep.

“I’m fine.” I reply, holding back the wheezing gasp that was threatening to escape with every syllable.

“Go back to sleep, Peeta.” Haymitch says. Peeta doesn’t move, but looks at me and waits. His reluctance should annoy me more than it does, make me feel like a child to be cared for after terrors in the night. But it doesn’t. Not tonight. It is the last night that I will see him, the final time that we will be safe together. Haymitch sighs loudly and I can almost hear his eyes rolling in his head.

“Get in the damned bed, kid.” Haymitch and I shuffle across so that there’s enough room for Peeta to slide in beside me. We lie there together in silence. I’m still tired but I can’t shut my brain off for long enough to get to sleep. In the end I close my eyes and spend the last few hours of safety and comfort listening to the boys breathing.

I must doze off for a few minutes because when I open my eyes they’ve both gone. Light is just starting to creep in through the gap in the curtains. I wrap myself in one of the warm gowns hanging in the wardrobe and make my way to the dining table. Haymitch is already sitting at the table, staring absently into a glass of water and completely ignoring the plate full of food in front of him. I am not hungry but I load my own plate with as much as I think I can eat. Who knows when I might next get the chance? My eyes drift around the room and I spot Effie, Peeta, Cinna and Portia in heavy discussion just on the other side of the thick glass that divides the dining area from the main living room. Effie keeps biting her lip while Peeta’s cheeks are the same shade as a blank canvas.

“You should eat.” I say to Haymitch as I sit down, forcing myself to look away from conversation. Haymitch glares at me across the table. I can almost hear him thinking the words ‘dare me’.

“I wasn’t aware that you were my mother.” He grumbles, but he sets his glass down and picks up his fork, spearing a chunk of fruit without another word of protest. We eat in silence, filling up on as much as our nerves and stomachs will allow. The sweet fruit has no appeal, the acids of the berries overwhelming the sugars and taking away any pleasure that could have been derived from the firm flesh.

All too soon it’s over, and Cinna is handing me this year’s designated arena outfit. We go into my room so that I can change. It is thin and light, and although the material fits over my body like a second skin it is not difficult to get on. I sit silently and patiently as Cinna braids my hair in my mother’s way, allowing my mind to go pleasantly blank for a few minutes. 

Haymitch emerges from his room not long after Cinna and I rejoin the group. The expression on his face is one of a man who has been told he has to eat his own tongue. The suit doesn’t look as absurd on him as I was expecting. It is clear through a casual inspection that he has not completely lost the strength and tone of his youth.

An awkward silence descends over the room and it takes a few seconds before I remember that it’s time for our final goodbyes. 

“There’s no holding back this time. If you don’t try and beat everyone to the cornucopia they will hunt you down and kill you. There will be a bow and arrows, Haymitch and I are certain. Whatever you do, Katniss, you get your hands on them.” Peeta urges desperately. I can see the fear in his eyes. He knows I don’t intend to come back. I nod, not trusting my voice to be steady. When he hugs me it is the most genuine contact we’ve had since we left the arena.

“Stay safe.” I tell him as I draw away. He smiles and lets out a small laugh.

“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be telling you?” This time we both laugh. Still smiling he reaches out and presses an object into the palm of my hand. I hold it up so that I can see what it is.

“This is the locket Effie gave you.” I say, gazing at the gold oval in my hand. It’s larger than I envisaged, covering more than a third of my palm, but the craftsmanship is fine and elegant making the locket seem smaller. 

“I want you to have it. For luck.” He says. I shake my head and try to give it back to him.

“Peeta, I can’t.” I tell him but he refuses to even look at it.

“For luck.” He insists, until I give in and slip the slender chain over my neck and let the locket settle over my breastbone. I tried to murmur my thanks but the words catch in my throat.

“Goodbye Peeta.” I manage to get out, thickly.

“Until we meet again, Katniss.” Peeta says, as though he is correcting me.

Effie totters over, as Peeta goes to farwell Haymitch. She doesn’t manage to get anything out before she starts sobbing, flinging her arms around my neck and clutching at me like I’m about to dissolve through her fingers.

“No matter what happens, I’ll always remember you as my Victor.” Effie chokes out through her tears. It takes several minutes before she is willing to let me go. While we’ve never been the best of friends, I will miss Effie’s earnest and well meaning ways, and I’m sorry to see her so upset. Portia stoically offers me little more than a handshake and a good luck, and for that I am immensely grateful. I don’t need more than one Effie.

Before I leave I walk over to Haymitch, who is rubbing his neck having just pried Effie off him.

“She’s got a grip stronger than a career.” He laments, but I can see that he is affected by her grief. 

“Haymitch, what have you been doing for the last few weeks?” I ask without really meaning to. The question has been occupying my mind more and more over the last few nights that it just blurts out. Haymitch stops rubbing at his neck and straightens his posture.

“Spending time with old friends.” It’s purposefully vague and evasive. 

“I know there’s something more. I can sense it everywhere I turn, you’re all hiding something from me. I need to know what it is.” I press. Once we get into the arena it will likely be too late, with cameras and microphones all around. Now is my best chance.

“You think I’m hiding something? Fine. Here it is. In a few hours I’m going to be in an arena, watching my friends murder each other and quite probably have to murder some of them myself, because some rich people in fancy clothes think it will stop everyone back home from realising how goddamned awful their lives are and wondering why the Capitol doesn’t do anything about it. I’m angry, Katniss. I’m damned furious. So I’ve spent my last remaining days of peace making sure that those same friends know that it ain’t nothing personal. That’s what I’ve been hiding.” He spits out with so much fire and venom that I instinctively take a step back. It’s all so plausible but deep down I know that this isn’t the real answer. However it’s clear that I will not be getting anything different from him so I just nod my head slowly.

“Okay. I understand. I’m...I’m sorry.” I can see in his eyes that he knows that I haven’t bought it, that I’m still suspicious. That’s the problem with having a mind that works like someone else’s. It goes two ways.

“Don’t be.” He says sadly.

“I’ll see you in the Arena.” I say, instead of ‘goodbye’.

“Yeah. See you in the Arena. Trust 11 and 4. They’ve got our backs.” I frown. I knew we’d be allying with District 11, but I thought I’d made it clear how I felt about Finnick.

“4?” I repeat. Haymitch nods.

“You said you wanted Mags. If you want Mags, you also got have Finnick. They’re a package deal.” He tells me. I think back to the reapings, where Mags volunteered for the young girl, how distraught Finnick had appeared at the whole situation. I’d thought it was just an act but maybe I was wrong.

I move to hold out my hand to shake Haymitch’s but my body reacts faster than my brain can keep up and I find myself throwing my arms around his shoulders.

“Thank you for doing this for me.” I say, realising that I’ve never really shown him the gratitude he deserves.

“I didn’t do it for you.” He replies quickly and sharply. “I did it for Peeta. He’s a good kid and he earned better.” 

The look in his eyes as I let go, ready to turn and follow Cinna away, says that he knows it’s only a half truth.

“When we’re in that Arena, don’t forget who the real enemies are.” Haymitch calls after me as I start to walk away. I promise myself that I won’t.

Cinna and I are silent companions for the whole journey to the arena entrance. We don’t exchange a single word from the moment we leave the tribute’s quarters, all the way through the hovercraft ride where they give me my tracking chip, up until we arrive at the end of the winding corridors that end in the narrow, one person tube.

“For luck.” He finally says, pinning my golden mockingjay pin on the sleeve of my suit and carefully folding it over so that it cannot be seen.

“Thank you. For everything.” I say sincerely. The gold eyeshadow seems to glow over his eyes, catching and reflecting the light surprisingly well in the dim room.

“No matter what happens, you were worth it.” He replies with a soft smile.

“I’m still betting on you, Girl on Fire.” I’m struck by a sudden pang of guilt. I don’t want to let Cinna down but there’s no convincing me that Haymitch doesn’t deserve to get out of the arena more than me.

“I wish there was some way I could repay you.”

“You already have. Because of you, I have hope.” I feel as though the floor has dropped from beneath me. It’s like I’ve just been punched hard in the stomach. But there’s no chance for me to react before a calm, monotonous voice announces that I have 60 seconds to get into the tube and prepare myself for the arena.

I give Cinna a quick hug, words tumbling over my lips without any filtering. Things he should tell my mother and Primrose and Gale, apologies for what I’ve never felt comfortable saying, sentiments they should know.

“Promise me you’ll tell them.” I urge him, as the timer reaches 30 seconds.

“I promise that if you are unable to tell them then I will do it for you.” Cinna acquiesces. 

“Thank you.” I sigh in relief, giving him another quick hug before stepping back into the tube. The cover slides down noiselessly so that I am now alone in a silent space, only able to see Cinna’s face. My heart starts to race as the countdown reaches 10, relentlessly pushing on through the single digits. It feels like an eternity for 3 to turn into 2 to turn into 1. Then the countdown is over and I wait expectantly to begin to rise. But nothing happens.

I look to Cinna for comfort as I try to quell the panic that is threatening to overwhelm me. Something is not right. Cinna is mouthing words at me, trying to soothe me. Keep calm. Shadows are moving in the corridors behind Cinna, getting larger as each moment passes.

“Cinna! Behind you!” I scream as they keep getting larger, resolving into recognisable shapes. He turns just as one of the shadows emerges, revealing itself to be a large person with their face covered. Blood spatters on the glass as Cinna is forcefully shoved into it. Fists fly, pummeling him mercilessly, switching to heavy kicks from solid boots when he sinks to the floor.

My screams echo around the tiny chamber. It feels so much like one of my dreams but the pain in my nails as I scratch at the tube in a desperate attempt to help Cinna is enough to tell me that it is very, very real. It’s only once they start dragging him away, covered in blood and not moving, that I realise I am crying.

Then, to my utmost horror, the platform beneath me starts to rise.


End file.
